


Kingdom of Summer

by nichristi



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Arthur Returns, Because the Winchesters are Nerds, Fae & Fairies, Gen, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichristi/pseuds/nichristi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam looked down at the scroll and picked up the last line of script, “I, Myrddin Emrys, True Bard of Britain, write this that scholars and men of letters to come will know the True Events and be able to recognize the return of the Kingdom of Summer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hic Ianus Artorius

Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, was laid to rest by his manservant and closest friend and no one in Albion saw either of them again. When the knights were sent in search of Merlin, they found a stone tablet on an island in the middle of the lake of Avalon with the words, “Here lies Arthur, The Once and Future King of Albion” inscribed on it and nothing more. The knights took it to mean that Merlin had buried their King in the lake and returned to the Queen, knowing that if the servant did not want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

Fifteen Hundred years later, no one remembered the small lake with the nondescript island. Legend and fact had gotten switched around so many times that eventually the grave of Arthur Pendragon was nowhere specific and the island of Avalon was said to no longer exist, having sunk to the bottom of the lake, like Atlantis of old. No one could have guessed that the mix up was deliberate. No one could have guessed that the Realm of Avalon had been hidden until the day of Arthur’s return.

* * *

 

“Sam. Look at this!” Dean called across the hall. They’d each taken a room in their newly discovered bunker and dove into the vast amount of knowledge hidden in the old boxes and filing cabinets. Sam was busy studying a seemingly random mass of stone when his brother walked in clutching a stone tablet under one arm and a series of scrolls under the other. He looked up and snorted with laughter, “Dude. I thought I was supposed to be the nerd.” Dean rolled his eyes and thrust the tablet into his hands. “Look at this.” Sam stood and took the tablet. He scanned the stone, then did a doubletake, “No way.”

“Way.”

“No Friggin’ Way!”

“Friggin’ Way!”

Sam scrubbed his eyes and read in an overawed murmur, “Hic Ianus Artorius, Rex Quondam, Rexque Futurus. Sweet Jesus. Dean, this- how are we holding this right now? Shouldn’t this be in-”

“I know. Check this out.” Dean shoved the scroll at his little brother. The scroll was tanned animal skin and beautifully decorated. He swore it was an old copied translation of scripture the Church did way back in the day, until he started reading it. “Shit. No. That’s not- What?!” Sam stared incredulously at his brother, “Dean, do you know what this says?”

“Sort of. I’m not the one that's fluent in Latin.”

“But you get the gist.”

“Sam, all I saw was the name. Please enlighten me, I’m dying to know what it says.”

Sam looked down at the scroll and picked up the last line of script, “I, Myrddin Emrys, True Bard of Britain, write this that scholars and men of letters to come will know the True Events and be able to recognize the return of the Kingdom of Summer.” He looked up at Dean who said,”Don’t stop!” Sam smiled as he  looked down and started at the beginning, “In a land of myth and a time of magic…”

* * *

 

Hours later, both Winchesters were sitting crosslegged on the floor of the storage room, trying to fight back tears as Sam reached the “True Events” of Arthur’s fall at Camlann.

> “I upheld my king in battle as the Bards of the Old Religion had, staff raised and voice charged with magic, but it was not enough. The battle was won and Morgana’s armies defeated, but Arthur’s Bane still had his way. Mordred the Traitor approached his king and buried a sword into his side and I was powerless to help him. The sword was enchanted- forged in dragon’s breath, like Excalibur- and thus, the wound was beyond my skill by the time I found Arthur. There was only one chance and that was Avalon.  The Sidhe were powerful and would know what to do.
> 
> “Arthur drifted in and out of consciousness the whole journey. He was heartbroken and angry to find that I had magic, but it could not be helped. All I wanted was for him to forgive me before we reached the Lake. That night, we were ambushed. Morgana and Mordred made one final attempt on our lives, but did not succeed. Having no more inhibitions about hiding my identity as the Emrys, I demolished them both and banished the dragon Aithusa before she could attack. When I returned to the campsite, Arthur was worse than ever. We journeyed through the night and reached Avalon just before dawn the next morning.” .
> 
> “Arthur forgave me with his dying breath. I tried everything to keep him in ths world’s realm, but it was too late. The king of Albion was dead and no spell would bring him back. Kilgarrah the Great Dragon chose that moment to appear and admonished me, ‘Arthur is not just the King. He is the Once and Future King. For when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.’ My hope was restored and I sent my King into Avalon’s watery arms to await the day. His sword, I flung into the waters after him and watched as the Lady of the Lake, my Ffreya, received the sword, giving me a silent promise to watch my King and his Kingdom. I hid Avalon from the world and contented myself with waiting until he returns. I, Myrddin Emrys write this...”
> 
>  

Sam rolled the scroll carefully and set it aside, hoping it wouldn’t dissolve that instant and be lost forever. He ran his hand over the surprisingly small slab of stone and blinked back tears. He’d read every Arthurian Legend ever written, but a firsthand account of the events was unheard of. He leaned back against the stone he’d been examining when Dean had brought the scroll in and looked at his brother, knowing he was just as moved by the story as Sam was. Dean cracked a smile first and said, “Merlin and Arthur were totally gay for eachother.”

Sam chuckled and stood up slowly, wincing as his legs woke up. He put a hand against the stone to steady himself and looked down, surprised. He hadn’t noticed the indentation before. He looked down at the tablet in his hand and said quietly, “No...really?”

“What?” Dean asked. Sam pressed the stone into the indentation. The Stone seemed to swallow the tablet and a line of gold traced itself into intricate patterns and knots all along the rough surface. The boulder morphed before their eyes. The stony facade slipped away to reveal an intricate marble sarcophagus. The likeness of the great king was carved into the top. Dean stepped to his brother’s side and they both gaped as even the grave fell away to reveal a small rowboat filled with ferns, herbs, straw, and a man. He was tall and blonde, dressed in full chainmail with a bright red cloak folded neatly at his head, a golden dragon rampant stitched into it.

Dean reached for the pistol at his waistband and Sam grabbed for one of his hunting knives. Whatever was happening right now didn’t feel evil or wrong, but it was better to be safe than dead. Again. The man began to breathe deeply as if he were asleep. He squeezed his eyes tight and opened them, squinting against the electric light. “Merlin…” He murmured. The king’s voice was gravelly and hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, “Merlin.” His tone was more decisive this time. The Winchesters looked at each other and lowered their weapons. They’d test him later. This was King Freaking Arthur. Just then, Arthur turned his head and looked around. “You’re not Merlin.”


	2. Rex Quondam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur Pendragon is obsessed with the electric light, can't figure out blue jeans, and is utterly baffled by the concept of indoor plumbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I edited it in a big way cuz I didn't like how it originally turned out. You should definitely reread it.

A harsh light and high pitched buzzing assaulted Arthur’s still-closed eyes. He forced his eyelids closer together and willed himself back into his pleasant dream. The trees waved overhead and the lake lapped gently at his feet. He looked out over the water and watched the fish jump for the pesky insects that buzzed on the surface of the lake. Gods, those insects were loud. He turned his head away and looked for Merlin. His manservant had gone missing again. “Merlin,” he murmured, astonished at how hoarse and old his voice sounded. How long had he been sitting there? He rolled his head around his shoulders and felt an inordinate amount of stiffness release itself in a flurry of cracks and pops. Merlin really should be there. He cleared his throat and called more clearly, “Merlin.” The dream faded as the incessant buzzing and harsh light grew more and more unbearable. He opened his eyes, determined to have his manservant squash the insect once and for all.

The light continued to assault Arthur’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. He blinked furiously and turned his head, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The first thing he saw was the rim of the rowboat. A flash of red in his periphery told him his head rested on his cloak. A quick glance down revealed full chainmail and battle regalia. Greenery and flowers cushioned the bottom of the boat under him as Arthur slowly realized where he’d woken up. This was a King’s wake. Urgency and panic overwhelmed him as the strangeness of the place assaulted his senses. The buzzing and the light and a low, vibrating thrum jarred his teeth as memories came flooding back. Mordred looking him in the eyes as he thrust the enchanted sword into his side. That long, terrible ride to the unknown lake. Merlin revealing his long-kept secret of sorcery. Arthur forcing himself to accept his manservant for who he was. The Dragon. The Darkness.

Slowly, Arthur realized he wasn’t breathing. He forced himself to draw deep breaths and assess the situation like the king he was. Beyond the boat, he could make out shelves of strange books and scrolls. Oddly made crates and boxes littered the floor. Knives and strange metal objects lay on fine, high tables of dark wood. How long had he been dead, exactly? Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His eyes slowly played across every visible aspect of the room before he saw them. Two tall, strangely clad men stood near the foot of the boat, holding knives and small, strangely shaped metal tubes at their sides. Despite the weapons, neither held a threatening stance. Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat again, unable to think of suitable words for these bizarre strangers. Instead, he blurted the first thing that popped into his head, “You’re not Merlin.”

The mens' eyes widened in surprise. “No. We’re not,” the taller one replied with a hollow, confused accent. Now it was Arthur’s turn to be surprised. They understood each other. Arthur tried again, “Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. Where am I?” Both men holstered their weapons as the shorter one replied in a deep, rasping voice, “Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam. As to where you are, well, that’s a very long story.”

Sam Winchester moved to the side of the rowboat and helped Arthur sit up. The king’s head started to spin. The buzzing and the light continued to assault him as Dean Winchester handed him a small metal container, commanding him to drink. Cool, sweet water washed down his throat. He groaned in pleasure, leaning heavily on Sam Winchester’s arm to keep from falling back into the bottom of the floating pyre. “He’s clean,” Dean muttered. Arthur wasn't sure what he meant, but Sam looked visibly relieved and said, “Help me get him upstairs.” They looped one arm under each shoulder and helped him stand between them. They took a few steps toward the corridor before Arthur felt the blood rush from his head to his feet and fell back into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

Arthur came to in a mostly darkened room. Light spilled in from the hallway and illumined the extremely soft bed as he tried to process everything. The buzzing had receded a bit, though the thrumming was still there and Arthur was reminded that he was not, in fact, at home. A clang sounded from a room down the hall and a heavenly smell wafted in from somewhere in the strange structure. Arthur’s stomach rumbled and even though he was wary of passing out again, his hunger got the best of him and he carefully pushed himself to a seated position.

He examined the room and attempted to get his bearings. The bedroom was nondescript and clean. His chain mail was laid out next to a pile of strange garments on a small table by the door. Arthur rolled his shoulders and swung his feet over the side of the bed, pausing to let a wave of vertigo pass. He stood up and carefully made his way to the table, picking up a strange, long-sleeved tartan pattern shirt like the ones his hosts wore. He almost instinctively called for Merlin to help him. Then he remembered. Merlin wasn't here. He was probably dead. He sighed, willing the involuntary tears from his eyes.

It took the king a few minutes to remember how to put a shirt on, but in the end, it was easier to figure out than the trousers. They were of the same blue material his hosts were wearing when he’d first woken and they had a rather strange metal contraption in the front. He pulled them on and spent an inordinate amount of time wondering if he should call-what were their names again? Oh, that's right- Sam and Dean for help until he finally tried pushing the circle through the hole and pulling on the weird little tab. The clothes were surprisingly comfortable and fit rather well, even if the trousers were far longer than his legs. He shoved his feet into what looked like an incomplete pair of shoes and made his way into the extremely bright hallway.

He followed the sounds and heavenly smells through the windowless corridors, only stopping briefly to brace himself against a few waves of dizziness. On his way, he figured a few things out. One- he was obviously not being held captive. If he had been, why the clothes, open doors, etc? This Sam and Dean must be at least partially trustworthy in that case. He’d still be wary, but so far, he had no reason not to trust them. Two- that buzzing sound was coming from the strange glass encased torches. How long was he dead if people could create light from such small objects? Was it sorcery? Questions piled on top of problems and eventually Arthur decided to simply file them away to ask later. He had to figure out his next move and not break down with the utter strangeness of everything.

Familiar voices brought him out of his thoughts. The delicious smell of cooking meat pulled him through one final doorway. The kitchen was massive and if it hadn't been for the presence of food and utensils, would have been completely unrecognizable to Arthur. Large metal boxes and tubes cluttered the bulk of the room and was there water spewing out of one of those contraptions? He was so taken aback, he almost couldn't hear Sam and Dean’s banter.

“Dean, we don’t want to poison the man!” Sam said in a lighthearted tone.

“Sam, I am hurt!” Dean replied, “My burgers are awesome. You said so yourself.”

“It’s not the burgers I’m worried about.”

Worry about your own project, dude. That pot is running over.”

“Shit!” Sam moved to the pot under the magical stream of water. “Shut up.”

“You wanted to stew vegetables, not me.”

“They’re not-”

“Whatever, man. It’s too late anyway. Burgers are almost done. Grab those buns out of the oven before they burn and go wake up His Royal Sleepyhead.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Sam grabbed two thick pads from the counter and playfully shoved his brother out of the way. Arthur smiled and leaned into the door frame, reliving countless hunting trips and quests with Merlin. He wondered what had happened to his manservant in the end. Had he died honorably? Did he return to Camelot? Where was he buried? Had he married? Did he have children? What about his magic?

“Your Highness? You okay?” Sam’s voice drew his mind back to the present. Arthur managed to nod in reply, though he wasn't quite sure what “okay” meant. The tall man was at his side in seconds, guiding him to sit at the small table near the door. Dean turned back to the pan from where he’d turned to watch. “You hungry?” He called over his shoulder.

“Absolutely,” Arthur replied, suddenly enthusiastic.

“Good,” Dean said, turning back to the table with three plates in his hands.”Don’t want the King of Camelot starving on my watch.”

He set the plates in front of him and Sam, then sat down himself. The food was, like everything else in this new world, alien to him. A piece of meat stacked between two slices of bread with cheese, a large, green leaf, and a slice of red sat next to a pile of light brown twigs. There were no utensils, no wine, nothing familiar at all except the presence of a plate and table and even those were foreign. Arthur stared at the plate and asked, “What is it?”

“Hamburger and french fries. You eat it with your hands. Like this,” Dean lifted the hamburger to his mouth and took a bite. Arthur followed suit and was bowled over by the deliciousness of it all. His ecstasy must have shown on his face because both brothers smiled and fell to eating with a vengeance.

* * *

Arthur asked a lot of questions. Dean supposed it was only natural. After all, the guy had been asleep for 1500 years. Who wouldn't have questions? They tried to answer as many as they could, but even Sam the resident know-it-all couldn't answer all of them. Even if Cas decided to show up, their flying encyclopedia of universal knowledge couldn't know everything that Arthur Pendragon wanted to know.  He seemed to take everything in stride, but Dean could tell the king was overwhelmed and even then he was holding back the most important questions.

"So the magic water basin-" Arthur started.

"Sink," Sam supplied.

" _Sink_. Is a form of well."

"Yeah. And it's not magic, actually. Water is brought from the streams, rivers and lakes by a system of pipes."

"Pipes? Like the smoking kind or the musical instrument?" Arthur asked with a more confused look. Dean could see Sam silently cursing the English language as he tried to explain. Dean smiled and clapped his little brother on the shoulder. "You're diggin' yourself a hole, Sam," he said. He got up from the table and opened the cupboard under the sink. "That's the kinda pipe he's talking about." Realization dawned on Arthur's face. Sam rolled his eyes and shot him some strange amalgamation of  thankyousomuchyousavedmyass and bitchface. Dean laughed and they moved on. 

Electricity was a whole different beast. Arthur was completely enamored with the electric light and spent hours standing at the entrance to the library just flicking the switch on and off. 

A few days later, Dean cornered Sam in the library while Arthur tested a few of the swords in the armory. "You sure it's okay to leave him alone with sharp objects?" he asked.

"Sam, He's the king of Camelot. If there's one thing he does not need a tutorial on, it's swords. Besides, he could use something familiar. Dude's got some serious culture shock."

Sam nodded, "I don't blame him." 

"Whatcha got?"

Sam looked at the mess of paper on the table. "Well, as far as I can tell, Merlin sent Arthur into the Faerie Realm after Camlann and set up the memorial on the Isle of Avalon. It's a place of really strong magic, so I'm guessing the memorial was turned into a gateway." 

"Alright, so the Men of Letters find the giant hunk of rock and bring it to the bunker. Awesome. Do we have Excalibur in here somewhere, too?" Dean snorted. 

"I don't know, we might." 

"Okay, so what about Merlin? He still kickin'?" 

 "Most likely. Arthur looked at the scroll the other day. He said it was definitely Merlin's handwriting."                                                                                                                                     

"He was around 500 years ago, then,"Dean figured."What's he been up to?" Sam scrolled through one of the websites. "So, most of this stuff is ridiculously inaccurate, but there are multiple accounts of a man who was very close to the British royal household for generations. Apparently, his bloodline goes all the way back to the old tribal days. Sometimes, he's a servant, sometimes a bard, and once, he was apparently the adviser to the Prime Minister." 

"Huh. Thank God for conspiracy theorists, right?" Dean mused. Sam huffed in agreement. "So where's the magic man now?" 

"No clue. He apparently left service after World War II. No one's seen or heard from him since." 

"Okay. We got a name?" 

"Uh, yeah. Dr. Marc Embries." Sam pulled up a picture. 

"Okay, print it out, let's show Arthur," Dean said. "We should probably run facial recognition, too. Just in case." 

"Already on it." Sam grabbed a copy of the picture from the printer and scampered down the hall after him. 


	3. Take Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which connections are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let you know that chapter 2 has been edited heavily. Go back and read it for better context. As always, this chapter is unbeta'd, and I love you.

“And you’re certain he’s alive?” Arthur looked up expectantly from the paper in his hand. Dean nodded, “Yeah. Sorcerers are long lived to put it lightly. 1500 years would be nothing for Merlin.” Arthur shook his head in disbelief and leaned on his sword, not caring that the tip was driving a hole in the wood floor. His entire perception of his old friend began to shift. He wasn’t just a servant anymore. Merlin was ancient and wise and untouchable.  He was more powerful than Arthur could ever hope to dream. Their ten miniscule years together would be but the blink of an eye to Merlin. Even if they found him, would he want to see him? Would he even know who Arthur was? Arthur grimaced inwardly at the thought of Merlin not knowing him. This could be one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. Merlin's voice sounded in his head. _And since when does Arthur, King of Camelot run from his problems?_ He smiled and regained his composure. “How do we find him?”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later found All three of them back in the library. Sam sat in front of his magic lightbox (Computer. It’s called a computer, Arthur) and used something called “facial recognition” to find more portraits of Merlin. Arthur stopped trying to follow Sam’s explanations of what he called “technology” after he’d had a panic attack in the shower.(Really, though. Rain should not happen inside. It’s not natural!) Dean finally noticed his confusion and said, “That’s his Timey Wimey detector. It goes ding when there’s stuff.” Sam suppressed a laugh and said, “Right. And I’m the nerd.” Arthur just went with it and turned back to Merlin’s scroll. He’d started reading it last night. In all the turmoil of this new world it was immensely good to read his manservant’s ever comforting words, even if they did occasionally say things like, “Arthur is a complete Prat!” or “He’s an insufferable Dollophead!” Memories came flooding back. Now that he looked at it, he wondered that he hadn’t picked up on Merlin’s magic before. All those times everyone had conveniently fallen asleep, or he’d been knocked out, or Merlin had disappeared suspiciously, or people had come back from the brink of death, he’d never once considered his best friend might be behind it all. Gaius had always told him there was someone watching out for the throne. Arthur had never taken him seriously. He probably should have. If they found Merlin, Arthur vowed, he would not take him for granted ever again.

As Dean had promised, a ‘ding’ brought Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked around frantically for the source of the noise and relaxed when Dean let out a triumphant, “Yahtzee!” Apparently, he’d taken over for Sam at the computer while Arthur read. “What?” Arthur asked.

“Found him,” Dean replied. Arthur was flabbergasted. These men must be sorcerers as well if they could find a man without leaving their home.

“Where?”

“You’re not gonna believe this,” He warned. Sam entered the room and came up behind Dean.

“Well? Spit it out, Dean!” Sam said. Dean took a breath.

“Arizona.”

* * *

 

“You’re kidding!” Sam said, squinting harder at the screen as if that would change the answer. “Why there, of all places?” He began running through all the mythology in his head, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Nothing.

“No clue. Changed his name again, but it’s definitely him. Listen. ‘Dr. Michael Embries, former professor of Arthurian Mythology and Medieval Studies at Cambridge University, retired to Queen Creek, Arizona in November 1983.’” Sam looked sharply at his brother who gave him the patented, _IKnowWhatTheFuck_ look and continued, “Says here he-”

“What’s Arizona?” Arthur interrupted. Sam sighed. _I should just give him an atlas and a damn encyclopedia._

“It’s a desert. About three day’s drive from here.”

“By cart?” _Shit! We should probably explain the whole automobile thing before he meets the Impala._

“Something like that.” If possible, Arthur’s face twisted into an even more confused expression. Sam decided to stop while he was behind and turned back to his brother. “What else?”

“Uh, there’s not much here, but- hold on, there’s a link to his website.”

“He’s got a website?” Sam was sure he looked as flabbergasted as the King.

“Yeah. Apparently, he owns a ranch.” Dean clicked the link. A classy, western themed website popped up with the logo “Excalibur Farms” across the top. Pictures of Merlin with a cowgirl were aligned neatly on the right side of the page next to tabs that read, ‘Our Horses’ ‘The Excalibur Story’ ‘Food Products’, ‘Metal Work’, ‘Foster Program’, and finally ‘Contact Us’.They didn’t even look at the rest of the site. Dean clicked on the ‘Contact Us’ banner and wrote everything down. Sam pulled out his phone and dialed the phone number and put the receiver to his ear. It rang three times. Someone picked up halfway through the fourth. There was a beat of rustling and the sound of a horse whinnying, then a female voice with a slight accent said, “Excalibur Farms, this is Cal.” Sam froze for a second, trying to gather his thoughts. Cal’s voice sounded again, “Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” he forced out. “Is. Uh. Is Dr. Embries around?”

“He’s out of town. Can I help you?”

“Um, I was really hoping to talk with him myself. When is he back in town?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, great. I’ll call back then,” Sam moved to hang up.

“Wait a sec,” Cal rushed, “Who should I tell him called?”

“Uh,” Sam searched his brain frantically. “Tell him, uh. Tell him Lance needed some help with a clotpole,” He spit out lamely.

“Uh, okay. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Sam said. He hung up.

* * *

 

Cal looked at the phone in her hand in complete bewilderment. She took down the message in a daze and placed it on Dr. Embries’ desk. She wandered out of the office and back into the open-air stable. Lance needs some help with a clotpole. She glanced down at the phone again and considered calling Dr. Embries’ number. One only considered disturbing him on his annual pilgrimage to England at great peril and only with very good reason. _This is a good reason_ , she argued with herself.

Cal went back and forth with herself until finally, she put the phone back in its holder in the tack room. She grabbed a hoof pick and a set of brushes and tossed them in a small bucket. She traipsed into the yard and whistled. One of the horses grazing in the field lifted its head and trotted to the fence. Cal opened the gate and touched his soft nose, whispering in a long forgotten language. Her eyes flashed gold. The horse lowered his head respectfully and made his way into his stall. Cal shut the gate and followed. She set the bucket on the floor of the stall and went about grooming his sleek, black coat. She worked all her frustration and confusion into the small, tight circles of the curry comb. The call had been weird to say the least. Some random guy just calls up out of the blue and says something about a clotpole? To her? No way was that a coincidence.

She dropped the curry comb in the bucket and drew out a stiff brush, smoothing away all the dust and hair and sweat left on the surface of the horse’s coat. The process of grooming always calmed Cal’s mind and brought order to her thoughts. She finished with the coat and turned her attention to the hooves, then the mane and tail. Before she knew it, she had finished. The black horse’s coat gleamed like polished ebony and she gazed into his warm brown eyes, suddenly clear on her approach. She would ask advice. She gathered her grooming supplies and returned to the tack room, trading her brushes for a saddle and bridle.

In less than ten minutes, Cal trotted from the stable and made her way into the State Land. She didn’t stop until she reached a small stand of grubby mesquite trees. She dismounted and left the horse in the shade to rest. She faced the mountains far to the North East and searched deep within herself. _“O Drakon! E male so ftengometta tesd’hup’anakes!”_ she cried. Silence stretched into the open desert. Then came a low rumble, like thunder. Then another. A shape rose out of the distant mountains and drew steadily nearer.  A great wind picked up and gathered a massive dust cloud in the process. Within minutes, the dust storm settled around a massive, pearl-white dragon. She inclined her head to the DragonLady and spoke, “You are troubled, Caellen Emrys.”

Cal nodded, “I am, Aithusa, my old friend. I have received a strange message that may be nothing at all, but-” she fell silent, unsure of how to proceed.

“Speak, my lady. The message was enough for you to call me. What was it?”

“A man called the stable today. He said that ‘Lance needed help with a clotpole.’ As you know, Clotpole was my father’s nickname for the King, and Lancelot was his best knight. Before I risk Merlin’s wrath, I wanted to ask your opinion. Before he died, did Kilgarrah ever say anything to you about such an omen?”

“No. But this should not be overlooked. Such intimate knowledge from a stranger is unusual. I shall carry this message to the Emrys and bring him back myself.”

“Thank you, Aithusa. When you return, please stay. This is something we need to figure out together.”

Aithusa inclined her head and lifted her great white wings into the sky. When she was gone, Cal turned back to her horse, still grazing peacefully in the trees. She mounted up and sighed. Something big was going on. She was going to find out what.


	4. What is Your Quest?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has not been abandoned, I promise. I'm just a REALLY slow writer.

Insects and fish danced on either side of the lake’s surface. It was nondescript, exactly like every other lake in the country. But it wasn’t. Here was the portal to the Otherworld. To Avalon. People said there was something strange about the place. Like Stonehenge or those old Mayan Temples that only saw the sunlight on certain days of the year. There was a slight hum about it. Life thrived there in a somewhat, detached, ethereal manner. It was a place forgotten by the rest of the world and time itself. No one noticed the man that appeared at the edge of the water every few months like clockwork. No one noticed when the visits grew shorter and more spread apart. No one noticed when the man received a visitor. No one but him.

When Aithusa landed behind Merlin, he didn’t even turn his head. He just sighed, “Didn’t I banish you from Albion?” She sighed and he heard her voice echo in his head, We have discussed this, Emrys. You know as well as I do that Albion is not a place. Not a physical place, anyway. Merlin felt annoyance creep into his chest, but grudgingly admitted she was right. Albion had been Britain for awhile, then America. It even reared its head in Russia for about five minutes. But wherever Merlin caught a glimpse of it, whenever he rushed after it hoping to find Arthur and usher in Albion for good, he was shut down. He sighed and turned to face Aithusa, “Did my daughter tell you to check up on me, or is there an actual reason you’re here?”

Aithusa’s eyes grew sharp, “Caellen worries for you, Emrys. It is her right.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. They’d had this discussion before, “You know what I mean.”

Aithusa inclined her regal head and looked at him with deep, golden eyes, “There was a phone call to the farm. Caellen believes it warrants your attention.”  

“And what phone call would be so important that it ‘warrants my attention’?”

“A man left a message about a clotpole,” She said wryly.  

“A Clotpole.” Merlin’s face deadpanned. “Caellen sent you over here because some guy mentioned a clotpole on the phone?” Aithusa dropped her head in a respectful nod.

“She would like your help in-” Merlin held up his hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. Behind the callous mask he wore, the wheels started turning. He hadn’t heard that name in millenia. Oh, this was a new one. He’d chased the prospect of Arthur in America before. There were those times with Theodore Roosevelt, and George Washington before him and Martin Luther King looked promising, but they all ended. That demonic fire in 1983 was something too, but those boys had absolutely nothing to do with the pursuit of Albion. They had fulfilled their destinies. Merlin shook his head. All those huge occurrences and not one of them mentioned Arthur and his idiotic tendencies. Interesting. He sighed. Maybe one more wild goose chase wouldn’t hurt. He met Aithusa’s gaze once more and nodded,“Very well. Let us go and see what Cal has found.” Aithusa smiled and lowered herself to the ground so Merlin could climb up behind her head.

* * *

Sam snapped the phone shut and looked between Dean and Arthur, a weird look on his face. “What?” Dean asked. He knew that look. Something was off. Sam shrugged, “I don’t know, man, she was-”

“Wait. She?”

“Yeah. Said her name was Cal.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so are we calling back next week or whatever?”

“Absolutely not.” Both brothers turned to look at Arthur. Dean kicked himself for the three thousandth time that day. Sometimes they both forgot that Arthur was not only human, he was a man of action. “You say Merlin lives three days away. We go. Now.” And that was that. They could do research on the road. Sam grabbed the duffels and packed a few sandwiches while Dean took Arthur down to the garage. Now was as good a time as ever to introduce him to his baby girl. “So, Arthur. Things have changed a bit since you, you know.”

“Since I died. Yes. I’ve noticed. The world is so much louder.. and brighter. It’s more...everything.”

“Don’t I know it. Well, I wanted to introduce you to our mode of transportation before we hit the road.”

“Is it customary to accost the road before you embark nowadays?” God, he and Cas would get along so well.

“Um, no. It’s an expression.”

“Oh. Well, get on with it, let me meet your horse.”

“Uh, The Impala’s not a horse.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Nope, It’s perfectly possible. See, after awhile, people figured out how to make cart wheels turn by themselves using a small, controlled fire. They didn’t need horses for transport anymore. They perfected that art, and now there are millions of different vehicles of all shapes and sizes for all sorts of purposes. Horses are basically just pets and farm animals now.”

Arthur deadpanned.

“And you’re telling me this because…”

“Because when we tried to let you figure out the shower by yourself, you had a panic attack. And we’re going outside. In public. For days, probably weeks. We can’t have you freaking out the whole way, dude.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur put on a brave face. Dean couldn’t blame the guy, really. Don’t care who you are, King, Angel, Demon, or just plain ol’ average joe. You wake up in a completely new reality, you’re gonna freak out. Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the doors to the impressive Men of Letters garage. God, he couldn’t wait to get under the hood of a few of these bad boys. There, in the middle of it all, ready to go at a moment’s notice, sat the Winchesters’ most prized possession.

* * *

 Arthur was certain the Impala had a face. It was most definitely staring him down. Gods, he felt so naked standing there in front of some new monster without a sword. But no, Dean had said this was some new form of cart, not a monster. On closer inspection, he realized he’d seen things like this in those pictures of Merlin. People had been sitting in them. Now that he looked at it, he could see a very vague resemblance between this monstrosity and the carts he was familiar with. It had four wheels, albeit too small and coated with an impossible black substance, and what looked like seats. So, not a cart then, a carriage. Ahh. That made more sense.

Arthur relaxed just a little and opened the door. He looked at Dean who nodded and gave a small smile. If he didn’t know any better, Arthur would say he looked relieved. He raised an eyebrow and saw Dean’s cheeks flush just the tiniest shade of pink. Arthur bent to examine the interior in an attempt to hide his smile. Dean Winchester was not an overly emotional man. Neither was Sam. A life hunting the monsters of the world would do that to you. Unless you were Merlin, but Merlin wasn’t what you would call a normal person, was he? Anyway, Dean was particularly sensitive about this whatever-you-call-it. And the way he looked at it. As if this massive contraption was family. He knew that look. He’d given and received it many times. This thing had saved this man’s life. More importantly, it had saved his brother’s. Understanding settled in Arthur’s stomach as he straightened up and smiled at Dean. “It is beautiful.”

Dean’s face broke into a full grin.“Damn right, she is.”

 The Impala roared to life half an hour later. Arthur was completely unprepared for it. Sure, Dean had said it would be loud, but this was not loud. Loud was a MASSIVE understatement for this insanity. It sounded like two dragons warring in his ears. Damn it, it was Camlann all over again. He clapped his hands over his ears and ducked in the small space at his feet. Distantly, he was aware of Sam and Dean swearing and fumbling with something in the front. 

It ended.

Mostly.

A low growl reverberated through Arthur's body. It was oddly comforting. 

"Your highness? Arthur?" He looked up. Sam and Dean looked worriedly over the back of their seat.  

"What the _Hell_ was that?" He said shakily as he climbed out of the hole and righted himself in his seat. 

"Sorry, man, I forgot about the music," Dean replied. He looked positively sheepish. He should. Arthur was suddenly very angry.

_"Music?"_

Sam stepped in this time, "Uh, yeah. See, over time-"

" _Shut up, Sam!"_ He turned back to Dean. " _That_ was not music. _That_ was _Hell_."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Sam and Dean both raised an eyebrow. Dean in particular became suddenly cold. He barked a laugh and turned back to the wheel in front of him. "Trust me, buddy, _that_ was not Hell." 

"Dean," Sam scolded. Dean wrenched the door open and stalked toward the big garage doors. Sam sighed and followed him. Arthur settled back into the seat and tried to breathe. 

* * *

Dean was kicking the living daylights out of the metal garage door by the time Sam caught up with him. Thank God for steel-toed boots. "Are you nuts?" he asked. Dean accosted the door with one more swift kick before turning toward the driveway. Oh no, he wasn't getting out of it that easy. "Seriously, Dean! The guy has PTSD and a massive case of culture shock. Metallica might've been a bit much, don't you think?" 

"Sam... don't." 

"No. You're not the only one who's ever been to Hell, Dean." That got his attention. "He had a flashback, dumb-ass. Camlann happened, like, two weeks ago to him." 

Dean sighed and rubbed his (probably broken) hand. "Yeah, Sam, I know." Oh, God. Here came the self-loathing. He'd be insufferable for the whole trip. It wasn't really his fault anyway. 

"Look, Dean. It's not that big a deal. Let's just go back and get this show on the road, alright? Seriously. King Arthur's in the backseat of your car." 

"Heh," Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. Sam caught a little bit of a smile, though. He gave Dean a playful shove and walked back to the car. He slid into the front seat and turned back to face Arthur. "Hell's kind of a touchy subject for him," he said apologetically. 

"I gathered," Arthur replied. "I take it he's been?"

"We both have." 

"To the actual Hell?" 

"Yeah. Long story. You'll hear it eventually." 

"I'm sure I will." 

Dean opened the door and slid back into the driver's seat. Sam gave him a thorough once over. Well, he was more relaxed, that was for sure. Dean looked in the rear-view mirror and asked a simple, "We good?"

Arthur gave a single nod. 

"Good. Let's do this thing." Dean put the Impala in Drive and they were off. 

 

 


	5. Take Heart Young Warlock

Arthur didn't like carriages. Oh, he had one in Camelot. He never used it. They were stuffy and cramped and indefensible. Not to mention impractical. Of course, roads were scarce back then. And they certainly weren't smooth like the one they were on now. The only thing a carriage had been good for was ceremonial events. Arthur preferred his horse. This contraption, this horseless carriage, was entirely uncharted territory and given his introduction to the thing, he wasn't sure what to expect.

The Impala shattered all his presumptions. She was a rolling contradiction. She flew across the ground at an impossible speed, but Arthur felt completely grounded the entire time. She was strong and hard on the outside but soft and welcoming on the inside. Much like her two operators. Sam and Dean put up a tough front. They were easily as well trained and battle hardened as any of his knights. And yet they were willing to risk their lives for a complete stranger. Only his most trusted knights had ever shown such honor. And Merlin.

Arthur steadied his thoughts and attempted to steady his stomach. Despite the car's smoothness, the speed was enough to make any small deviation from a straight line excruciating. Arthur turned his attention to the landscape flying by at a breakneck pace. He hoped that if he focused on it his stomach would stop jumping into his throat. It didn't work. It just made him dizzy. Arthur found himself leaning forward to brace himself against the front seat. He closed his eyes and focused on Sam and Dean's voices. "...and there's a pictures of him with Ghandi, JFK, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, a couple Da Vinci sketches, a few paintings of the pope, the Dalai Lama, Napoleon, Winston Churchill. He's literally everywhere in recorded history," Sam was saying.

"What about the chick?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah. She's in there sometimes, but no one mentions her. Just the phantom wizard."

"Man, since when do we help out sorcerers anyway? We hunt this kind of thing. No offense, Artie." Dean swung the Impala around a corner and Arthur fought the urge to hurl himself from the car and lay still until the world stopped spinning. His head knocked against Sam's shoulder and he moaned. "You okay, Arthur?" Sam asked, his voice suddenly concerned. Arthur didn't trust himself to respond. "Pull over, Dean." Dean yanked the steering wheel to one side. Arthur really wished he wouldn't do that. The car skidded to a halt and the next thing he knew, Sam was hauling him out of the car and easing him to the ground. The world gradually slowed its spinning and Arthur propped his forehead on his knees, focusing on breathing. He had to pull himself together. He was a king after all. How would it be if he met Merlin like this? To confront so much power with this weakened resolve and a reeling mind? With each passing hour, it grew more difficult to reconcile his dear friend with this figure of immense power everyone seemed to believe he was. The greatest sorcerer to ever live? Who was Arthur but a man out of time?

Gradually, he became aware of Dean's voice. "Breathe, Your Highness. You'll be alright." He lightly patted Arthur's back and offered him a bottle of water. (Water in clear, sealed containers. What next? Flying?) He gratefully accepted the odd container and asked, "Can't we just walk? Or ride?" "Sorry, man. No can do. Sammy doesn't really do horses." "You're one to talk," Sam muttered. Arthur huffed a laugh. and leaned his head back against the car. "What's say we find a motel and grab some grub? Do a little research and try this again tomorrow? We got time." Dean suggested. "Good idea," Arthur and Sam replied in unison. "You gotta hurl, you let us know, OK?" Arthur nodded and allowed himself to be pulled upright. Back into the fray.

* * *

Merlin felt it the second Aithusa touched down in the desert. The scrub and rocks were just slightly skewed. The air itself was not quite right. Neither hot or cold enough.Too heavy and too light all at once.

He remembered this feeling. It was there when Arthur died. When Gwen died. When Martin Luther split from the Catholic Church. Whenever Death Himself saw fit to walk the Earth. When Hitler attempted to rule the world. It was there when the Righteous Man shed blood in Hell and when a single Seraph yanked him out again. It was there when Lucifer was ripped from his cage and hurled back in. Every time the fabric of reality was torn open, it weakened just a little more.

This time, Merlin could physically see the threads of the Universe unravelling. This place couldn’t hold out much longer. If Kilgarrah’s prophecy was going to come true, now would be an opportune time. Then again, the Christians said the same thing about Jesus, the Atheists said the same about modern science, and every new split was just as jarring as the one before. Merlin blinked and shook his head. Whatever had happened this time, it would make itself known before long. Aithusa whispered beside him and a ripple of magic ran across her body. Within seconds, a pale, humanoid form took the place of the gigantic lizard. She was tall and slender, her face still mildly deformed from the torture she had suffered all those ages ago. She looked at him with impossibly deep eyes and motioned down a small desert trail. _Caellen will meet us at the farm._ Merlin nodded and they turned toward civilization.

* * *

 

 “Heels down, Heather!” Cal called. The pleasure class trotted around the arena. The girl in question jammed her heels down in the stirrups causing her horse to sidestep and shake his head. Two figures trudged toward the open arena gate. Cal whistled, dismissing her class. Merlin and Aithusa waited until the class made it to the barns before turning to the main farmhouse.

Dear God, her father looked even older than he had the last time he’d visited the lake. Oh, he’d cut his hair and the beard was trimmed. His face wasn’t lined with wrinkles, but his eyes. It was like they could see exactly what was wrong with the world, but didn’t have the tools to fix it, and didn’t dare hope that a phone call would make any difference. Cal swept her father up in a hug, as she always did after a hard journey. Aithusa was next and they all retired to the house. “The world’s falling apart,” Merlin lamented as he flopped into his favorite chair with a cup of tea.

“Obviously,” Aithusa agreed bitterly around a biscuit.

“No, Literally.”

“What?” Cal settled behind a big oak desk.

“You really can’t see it?”

“See what, Dad?”

“Reality. It’s falling apart. Unravelling.”

 

"Seriously?"

"It's been happening since the dawn of time. Before, even. Sometimes it's a healthy thing- a rotten thread gets plucked out and replaced with a new one, you know? But now, it's like someone took that handmade blanket from the couch and ripped a hole in it. Then another. And another."

“Fuck.”

“Precisely.”

“And you can see it?”

Merlin nodded. “I hope this phone call of yours actually turns into something useful.”

“You're just mad I interrupted your month of moping,” Cal quipped as she reached for a book of maps. “The call came from Lebanon, Kansas.”

“Lebanon?" Merlin looked at her in disbelief. "You’re sure?”

“Absolutely." 

“The Men of Letters disbanded almost 60 years ago.”

“Yes," Cal confirmed. As if she didn't remember it like it was yesterday. "Yes they did.”

“You kept the list of original members?”

She rolled her eyes. "It's like you don't even know me." Merlin snorted despite himself as Cal stood and rummaged through a filing cabinet, producing a file. She pulled up Ancestry.com and started typing. “Who are you looking for?”

“Well, there’s not many people left from the original bloodlines, if any,” Merlin said matter of factly.

“Thanks for narrowing it down,” she complained good-naturedly. Everyone was quite for a bit after that. The only sound in the house was the steady clack of Cal's fingertips on the computer keys.

“Hm.”

“You okay?”

"You really can't see it?"

"No, sorry."

"Why?" Merlin lamented. "You're nearly as old as me by now. You're just as powerful."

"No, I'm really not."

"My point is, how do all of you just keep going on like something isn't ripping this world apart from the very core?" He leaned forward, eyes shining. "How do you not see it?"

"You really have to ask?" Aithusa said abruptly from her chair. 

"What?" Merlin's head snapped toward her. 

"Need I remind you, Emrys, of who you are? Have you forgotten in your old age? The fabric of reality is something so Other that only those that were made to see it can."

Merlin looked at the last Great Dragon with burning eyes that made Cal think they were having one Hell of a knock down drag out in their minds. Gods above, she wanted to be a fly on the wall in their heads sometimes.

"Shakespeare was right, you know," she finally cut in. "Some are born great. You're one of them."

 

"She's right, Emrys," Aithusa said triumphantly.

"So are you," he protested, turning to Cal.

"Not the same thing," Cal shot back as she turned to the screen and typed in the next name. "Besides. You're required to say that."

Merlin groaned at her with a fond smile, “Do you know how much you sound like Kilgarrah?” Aithusa blushed and ducked her head. Cal smiled and typed in the last name on the list- Winchester, Theodore I. Good. He had living relatives. No one else had so far. Oh. Goddess. “Dad…”

“What?”

“I know who called us.”

“Well?”

“A Winchester.”

“I’ll make myself scarce then,” Aithusa said.

“No!” Cal and Merlin said at the same time. “They’re not looking for you,” Merlin continued. He dug in his pocket for his phone. “Number?” She pushed a sticky note across the desk. “Called himself Lance, you said?” Cal nodded. He lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello, I’m looking for Lance….Dr Michael Embries, at your service.” Cal and Aithusa suppressed smiles at his sudden proper englishness. “Why yes, I did get your message. I find it rather interesting, Lance, that you mention my first employer with such little respect…Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Mr. Winchester… Same way you know mine, I imagine… Now, lets stop beating around the bush, young man and why don’t you tell me what the two most infamous hunters in the world want with little old me...what on earth could you- Hello?” Merlin went white as a sheet. “Triple Goddess Have Mercy,” he breathed. He was shaking. Hard. Cal hurried around her desk and grasped his hand. “Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me through this super long wait. I love you all.


	6. Albion Eternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the moment you've all been waiting for! Much love and Happy Holidays!

The phone rang just as Dean got back in the car with a sack of food. Sam answered while Arthur accepted a box of noodles. “Hello? Yeah, speaking.” He sounded oddly polite. “Dr. Embries!” He looked back at Arthur. Dean’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Merlin. He was talking to Merlin. “Thank you. I guess you got my message then. Your assistant said-” His eyes went round and he looked at Dean with what could only be described as a spooked look. Then he looked at Arthur. Merlin knew. He had to. Arthur held out his hand. “I- I don’t know what you’re-” He held up his hand.

“Give me the phone,” Arthur demanded.

“Wait. You know who we are? How?” Now it was Dean’s turn to look spooked. “We. Um. Actually. We found something you’ve been looking for.” Sam barely finished his sentence before he shoved the phone at Arthur. He fumbled it a little, listening for the tinny voice coming out one end, “Hello?”

“Merlin?” Arthur said hesitantly, shaking a little bit.

“Triple Goddess have mercy,” came the achingly familiar voice. “Arthur.”

Arthur drew in a shaky breath and said, “Are you real?”

“Are you?”

“I’m not actually sure. I keep thinking maybe this is the afterlife. But it’s all so loud…”

Merlin choked out a laugh, “That it is, Sire.” And wasn’t that nice to hear? His own proper title spoken by someone who really knew the weight it carried. “Where are you?” he asked.

“Ummm… I’m not actually sure,” Arthur looked at the Winchesters. “Where are we?”

“Just South of Dresden, Highway 123,” Dean rattled off. “He’s not gonna magic himself up here, is he?”

“South of Dresden, Highway 123,” Arthur repeated.

“How appropriate,” Merlin said. Arthur didn’t understand why, but Sam muttered something about wizards and irony. Arthur didn’t push it. “Sit tight, then. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Is this a Magic thing?”

“Sort of. Tell Sam and Dean not to shoot my ride.”

“Your what?”

“I’ll see you soon, Arthur.”

“Wait-” Then Merlin hung up.

“Well?” Sam demanded.

“He said he’d be here in thirty minutes and not to shoot his ride. Whatever that means.”

“Okay then.” Dean pulled off the highway onto a dirt road. Everyone piled out and Arthur watched as the brothers set to work.

* * *

Merlin didn’t talk much at the start of their journey. Granted, people rarely talked while they were riding a dragon at roughly double the speed of a jumbo jet, but Aithusa expected at least a mention of etiquette. Or an escape route. One could never be too prepared when hunters were involved. Especially hunters like the Winchesters. Men who walked with Death and called Angels friend and cavorted among the Great Beings of the Universe would hardly flinch at a dragon and a wizard, Great though he was.

_You’re thinking too hard, Dear One_ , came Merlin’s soothing voice across her mind.

_It’s all too easy, Emrys_. She protested. _Arthur calls you out of the Great Beyond and just so happens to be in the company of the two most infamous hunters in history?_

_Maybe. They’re exactly Arthur’s type, though._

_How do you mean?_

_Think about it. Two men from a noble line with an unfortunate upbringing, a hero complex, and destinies too big for them to comprehend. I’m frankly shocked it’s taken us so long to cross paths._

_You have a point. We were bound to meet them at some point. At least they seem to be on our side for this one._

_On the other hand, this could be an elaborate plan to get you out of hiding._

_I’m not in hiding_ , Merlin protested

_You don’t exactly wear a neon sign above your head. What would the Grand Coven do if you just showed up out of the blue?_

_Probably shit themselves. There they are,_ Merlin pointed. Miles beneath them sat a black car that was just as famous as the men who drove her. Three figures stood at the back end.

_Shall I put the fear of their god into them?_ She asked.

J _ust enough to instill a healthy respect._ She felt Merlin smile as she ducked out of the clouds just out of sight of the highway. They glided silently for a few miles until they were in sight of the clearing. She pumped her wings once and shot over the clearing, circling twice before landing behind the car with a resounding thud. She lowered her head and let Merlin slide to the ground. The Winchesters stood at the trunk of their car holding a broken sword. She recognized it and snorted, _Bruncvik. Typical._

Merlin wasn’t paying attention. He was focused on the man between them. He was taller than Merlin, but shorter than Dean, with a noble bearing and sharp eyes. Arthur. She shifted uneasily, Morgana’s old words echoing across the ages and igniting old fears. _Relax Aithusa_ , Merlin said absently. He started forward. Dean held up a flask and tossed it to Merlin. He sighed and took a swig then tossed it back. She forced herself to breathe as Arthur pushed past the Winchester brothers, his own sword in hand, point down. They stopped about three feet from one another and just stared, each taking in the sight of the other. Merlin looked starved. Arthur looked apprehensive. Finally, Merlin held out his hand. Arthur bypassed it completely and threw his arms around Merlin’s shoulders, laughing. A few stunned seconds later, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur. They exchanged a few quiet words, too soft to catch, but Merlin choked on a wet laugh and cupped Arthur’s cheek. They drew back and Merlin turned his attention to the Winchesters. “Gentlemen. I owe you both a debt. Thank you. Come, Arthur.” He turned back to Aithusa and motioned her neck down to him.

“Whoa, Hey.” Sam and Dean started.

“Merlin-” Arthur hesitated to follow.

_Emrys_.

“What?” He seemed startled that no one had followed him. “Time is of the essence. Come on.”

“I am not a dog that you can just call or leave without explanation,” Arthur snapped. “Fifteen Hundred years or not, I am still your king. You cannot simply-”

“SIMPLY? You think all of this is SIMPLE?”

“You misunderstand-”

“Oh, I understand completely. I saved your life. Waited for you. Ran all over the world hoping it was you and now that it’s actually you, here to fulfil your destiny, you won’t-”

“I WILL NOT RIDE A DRAGON TO WHEREVER IT IS YOU LIVE NOW!” Merlin was stunned silent. Aithusa burst out laughing.

She shrugged into her humanoid form, much to the shock of everyone present and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “You didn’t think Arthur would abandon you, did you?” Merlin gaped at her. She smiled indulgently and extended a hand to Arthur, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Your Highness. Please forgive him, he’s gotten used to blind obedience in your absence. Wisest man to ever live and just as impulsive as the day he met you.” She smiled over her shoulder at the only father figure she’d ever known. Merlin, for his part, continued to gape at her like a dead fish. She rolled her eyes and addressed the Winchesters, who were honestly not doing much better. “Gentlemen, you have recovered the king and as such, you have every right to see to his well being.” She turned back to Merlin, who was finally overcoming his shock and was opening his mouth to scold her. She beat him to it. “I have flown across two continents and an ocean today, and have only had a bit of tea and a biscuit since breakfast. I’m going home.” She addressed the group at large, “Don’t kill each other before you get there.” She didn’t wait for anyone to snap out of it. She shifted back to her true form and beat her wings, circling twice before making a heading for the desert. Hopefully they’d get it all out in the two days it would take for them to get home. Maybe there would be deer on the way.

* * *

Merlin seriously considered calling Aithusa back and tearing her a new one in the ancient dragon tongue. On the other hand, she clearly frightened Arthur and as much as he loved her as his own, Merlin didn’t want to let him out of sight for even a second. He stood for a long time debating with himself, well aware that he looked insane. He was dimly aware of the Winchester brothers packing their weapons into the trunk of their car, talking between themselves about something or another. Arthur stood next to him, stoic and patient as ever. Funny. When they talked on the phone he'd sounded almost panicked. “You’re taking all of this rather well, you know.”

Arthur snorted. “I’m adjusting. Honestly, now that you’re here, everything is settling down a bit. It’s like the world is more… solid.”

Merlin stared, shocked. "What did you say?" 

“Sam called it culture shock. He’s very well read, you know.”

“I’ve heard.”

The trunk slammed behind them and Dean called, “Bus is leaving!”

Merlin and Arthur slid into the back seat and they were off. He looked around, bewildered. Arthur was right. The world did seem more solid than it had even from this morning. “Odd,” he muttered.

“What’s odd?” Sam asked.

“Just- something Arthur said,” Merlin tried to wave it away.

“What? What did I say?” Gods, he hadn’t changed a bit, had he. Hah! Why would he?

“About the world being more solid.”

“And?”

“It might actually be more solid.”

“What's that supposed to mean?" Dean piped up. 

"Well, you deal with the 'End of Everything' all the time so this might not be-" 

"Merlin..."Arthur warned. 

"Reality is unravelling," He blurted. Everyone stared. "Has been for awhile now." Dean pressed down on the gas. Arthur tightened his grip on the ashtray in the door. "Reality is like a fine woven cloth. Strong, but at times very delicate. The Druids believed you could see through it at times- they called it the Second Sight. That's why we always celebrated the equinoxes, you know? The Fabric of Reality is thinner then. Anyway, whenever something significant happens, The Virgin Birth, for example-" 

"The What?" Arthur gaped. 

"Tell you later," Merlin promised, "Whenever something like that happens, a hole is ripped in Reality. Sometimes it's a healthy thing-new threads growing in pace of old ones. A Balance must be kept, you know. Lately, however, the Balance has been skewed. More and more holes have been made. Too many holes. Reality is unable to heal itself fast enough before the next cataclysmic event happens nowadays. It's off-putting to say the least. Not everyone can see it. Cal can't, which is odd in and of itself..." He trailed off into his own thoughts. 

"Cal?" Arthur asked. 

"We talked to her, didn't we?" Sam asked. 

"My daughter," He said, pride in his voice. "She runs everything, really. Lets me go on all my harebrained wanderings..." The conversation died down after that. Sam was doing something with his phone, Dean fiddling with the radio, and Arthur leaned his head on the window, eyes heavy. It looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. Come to think of it, Merlin hadn't either. He suppressed a yawn and let his eyes droop against the rolling Kansas landscape. 

* * *

 

 


End file.
